Bask
by Barabista
Summary: "Anyone can survive the Games, Thaile. You can be strong, agile, cunning or just plain lucky.  Why is there only ever one victor? Because only some have the the heart and mind for the kill." A little extract of my new story, C.a.U.T.i.O.n. Enjoy!


**||.Bask.||**

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><strong><br>||A/N||: **Ooh, a taste of what's to come. A new love of mine, The Hunger Games. Find out all about it and about my little lovely characters here soon enough.  
>Ownership of The Hunger Games is not mine. I wish it was. However, little miss Everest and our gentleman Thaile do belong to me. Enjoy this snippet of my upcoming Hunger Games story.<p>

Also, Rated T because, personally, I think if you're under 13 you should probably not be reading The Hunger Games. This particular snippet is rated T simply because of that, and has only one mild use of bad language and very minor adult themes. In comparison with the books, it's nothing.  
>Enjoy.<p>

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It was weird really. And it tickled. _Lots_. It was taking all my self restraint not to flap my hands wildly at his, begging him to stop while trying to contain spastic fits of laughter. Thay's hands were rough and calloused, like mine, but in all different places. As he gently stroked my palm, I could feel the roughness of his fingertips, hard dry skin scratching at my equally rough palms. I look up, inwardly groaning at the sudden pain that comes with the movement, at Thaile's face.  
>"Your fingertips," My voice sounds dry and crackly, like someone had made me swallow a tracker-jacker nest, and it was barely above a whisper, "Are all rough. Why?" Thaile lets out a small, half-hearted chuckle, and I feel my face crease into a frown. He seemed so fragile, so distant.<br>"The nets." My eyes quickly focus back on the tanned face, trying to remember the question I'd just asked. "Huh?" A ghost of a smile plays across his flushed lips, turquoise green eyes lighting up with the action.  
>"You asked me why my fingertips were so rough," he says gently, his eyes not meeting mine, "It's because my mother made the nets for our village's fishermen, and she always managed to guilt me into helping her."<br>I attempt what I guess is some form of giggle, but it comes out sounding like Capitol leader on drugs, a high pitched squeal of sound that slowly died into a deep, cracking grunt.

**How attractive.**

This, however, earns me a short chuckle from Thay, and I grin. Well, as much as my face allows me.  
>"I bet I look like shit." I whispercroak out, and try to reach out my hand to touch my ragged hair.  
>He laughs again, grasping my hand gently and tracing the same swirling patterns into it as he had done before. "It's not your best look, I'll admit. I prefer the wild, blood-coated, mud-covered, spear-wielding tribute girl look."<br>"Ha Ha. It's nice to know I simply _ooze_ beauty everywhere I go." "Well," he started, grinning, "I think you're beautiful all the time." My cheeks flare fluorescent pink, and I slap his hand. (Try to, it ends out more like a wobbly poke.). "Stop doing that. Save it for a better time." I'm trying to glare, because I hate it when he does that flirting thing. It's quite hard though, between my injuries and his cute little look. He looks up from my hand, and once again I'm overcome my how absolutely and utterly_ gorgeous-and-adorable_ this guy is. Curse his genes. Curse him for that gorgeous suntan skin, that simply personifies sunlight, different from my naturally dark olive complexion. Curse his beautiful light marine green eyes, flecked with gold like the sunlight off waves. Curse that body, thick and muscled like some sort of fucking-Greek-God. And curse that personality. Cheeky, arrogant, confident, caring, selfless, brave and _bloody-amazing_ personality.

And here I am, a lunatic who's hands are coated thickly in blood, who's wanted by the Capitol for treason, who's clutching on to sanity with the tips of her fingers, who's stuck, helping this incredible boy and the sweetest most naive little kid ever to escape the brutal and bloody games I've been stuck in for nearly fifty years. Oh, not to mention has a temper like a banshee and a violence level on par with the Capitol itself. **Go me.**

I smiled softly up at Thay, trying not to grimace with the pain, and opened my mouth to speak. As I did this, my lips made a horrible smacking noise, like flesh being cut through. Again, how attractive. Thaile must be using all of his will not to jump me right on the spot. I should be locked up for being so sexy. Seriously. (I should also be locked up for treason, murder, and my generally 'not so stable' state of mentality.) "You should get some sleep." I still sound like a mutated frog, but at least it was understandable. Even in all his totally undesirable (_Blatant lie._) glory, he looked tired. Shadows hung around under his eyes, framing them even more in darkness, illuminating the oddly light hue of his irises. How someone managed to look even remotely **'sexy' **when they had lived through literal Hell and had not slept for eight days in a row was beyond me. I looked like some sort of **dying racoon** for most of my life, partially the fault of the insomnia that lined my eyes in a pale blackish-brown. It could have made me look like I made an effort in my appearance, with some eyeliner or something, but no. Raving dying racoon it was.  
>"I suppose so." Thaile answered, finally having finished his long period of just looking at me like it was the last time he'd ever see me. "Will you be alright?" I laugh, and this time it sounds a little more like normal. "I'll be fine."<p>

He gives me one last smile/grimace and gingerly rises from the low canvas hammock in which I'm currently cocooned in. His tall frame nearly hits the other bunk, and suddenly his face is only just visible, basked in shadow and warm lamplight alike. "Night Everest." With a short stare, a wave and a smile, he lifts the canvas flap of the tent and is gone.

Rolling slightly to the side, I begin to fall asleep to the sound of heavy breathing and slight snoring. The tent is warm, filled with heat and golden light from the lamp, which lets out the occasional hiss of burnt wick every so often. It's comfortable, and it's relaxing, but I have to work hard to quell the habit of keeping guard every night, and to actually drift into a fitful and not at all restful doze.

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So... Maybe you like it? Maybe you hate it? I'll never know lest you tell me! That little box down there? That's Reviewy, and he's desperate for some food! Please feed him with your wondrous comments!

**Sang-Sur Chan**  
><strong>Xx<strong> 


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